Risen
by spectrum700
Summary: Five years after the rebellion, a bad episode sends Peeta back to the Capitol for surgery on his leg, taking Katniss along to fend off a whirlwind of media advances as they struggle to recover from their traumatic teen years in peace. Running with this post-Mockingjay take is the story of Peeta's childhood with his abusive mother. From the author of "Gale's Amaranth."
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

* * *

_Okay. I can't keep away._

_Your support for _Gale's Amaranth_ was incredible. I miss writing. And this story also needs to be told._

_Let me know if it's something you want me to continue!_

* * *

**~ Katniss ~**

"How are you feeling?" I ask softly from the doorway. Peeta looks up at me in surprise, but his eyes are clear, as the nurse said they would be. I'm glad to see my husband sitting upright in bed, even free from his restraints. His sketch pad is laid out before him on the mattress with a couple of spare pencils.

"Katniss," he says simply, smiling sadly. "You came."

"Of course I came," I assure him, trying to inject some warmth into my voice. Dr. Aurelius says that minding my tone with Peeta after his episodes can help him remember that I'm not a threat. I cross the room but pause before touching him, holding up my palms to ask for his trust.

"You can, Katniss," he affirms, moving aside so that I can sit beside him on the bed. I hold out my hand for him to take instead-another suggestion from Dr. Aurelius, to help Peeta feel that he is in control of his own safety. Peeta takes a deep breath and then grips my fingers in his own. He squeezes gently to show me that he is comfortable with my presence, and I take that as my cue to wrap my other arm around him and rest my head on his shoulder.

"Who is that pretty girl?" I ask when I see Peeta's sketch. The girl is supposed to be me-it usually is after his episodes. But the page is smudged with erasures, and I know that Peeta has been struggling to draw me as the girl he loves, rather than the Capitol's mutt. Still, I want him to know that I recognize his efforts.

"She's a beautiful girl," Peeta corrects me, setting his pencil down. "Katniss, I'm so sorry," he whispers.

"No need to be sorry, hon," I tell him, holding him closer. "I'm just glad that you're safe."

Peeta bends down to nuzzle into my hair and plant a gentle kiss on my forehead. He wriggles out of my embrace and wraps his arms around me instead, then guides me down beside him on the bed. When Peeta and I were younger, these moments would make me anxious-I wondered whether the nurse would be horrified to find us this way, locked in each other's arms. But five years after the rebellion, I understand that even from a medical perspective, it is good that Peeta feels secure enough to lie beside me. I pull his blanket over us, tucking it around Peeta's shoulders.

"Have you been sketching all morning?" I ask, intertwining my fingers with his.

"Just for the past hour or so," Peeta explains. "I woke up feeling mostly myself again, had some therapy with Dr. Archer here this morning, and then called Dr. Aurelius to tell him what happened. He helped a lot."

"Are you ready to tell me?" I rub Peeta's back to show him that I'm asking because I love him. Talking about these things usually helps him, and although I don't really want to know the horrible details of what landed my husband in the hospital, I know that talking about these things usually helps him. Sure enough, Peeta takes a deep breath and begins to explain.

"I was in the bakery," he starts slowly. "I had a flashback to the footage they showed me in the Capitol of the bombing, watching it burn with my family trapped inside. I blamed you, Katniss," he confesses, tears forming in his eyes.

"Peeta, it's okay…"

"I wanted to kill you. I was going to kill you, Katniss," he admits, pulling away from me. I try to hold him back in my embrace, but he pushes the blanket back and sits upright. I take a deep breath to steady myself before crawling over to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

"But you didn't kill me," I reassure him quietly. "I'm safe. And you're safe. I won't hurt you, and you won't hurt me."

Peeta shakes his head and wipes his tears away with the back of his hand. Then he pushes the blanket to the end of the bed, exposing his intact right leg and his left stump. His prosthetic is missing, which doesn't surprise me-he usually removes it to bathe and sleep. But I gasp when I see the dark bruises on his thigh.

"Oh, Peeta…" I push the hem of his boxer shorts up his leg, gingerly exposing bruises up to his hip. "Did you do this to yourself?"

He pushes my hand away and covers himself with the blanket again, hanging his head.

"Peeta," I begin more firmly. "How did this happen?"

"I didn't want to kill you," he whispers. "I'm fine. The important thing is that you're safe."

I wrap my arms around him and hold him as tightly as I can, resting my head between his shoulder blades.

"How?" I ask simply, fighting back my own tears.

"Rolling pin. I was aiming for my prosthetic."

"So that you couldn't come and find me."

"Yes."

"Peeta…" I don't know what to say to make this right, and so I just hold him close, trying not to imagine the scene in the bakery. Five years after the rebellion, all is supposed to be right with the world. But my husband maims himself so that he can't come home and attack me.

There's a soft knock at the door, and Dr. Archer enters with a long metal object in his arms. Peeta and I both straighten.

"Mrs. Mellark," Dr. Archer greets me, and I make an effort to smile, because he really is a nice man. Calling Dr. Aurelius in the Capitol works well enough for me, but Peeta needs physical assistance from time to time, and Dr. Archer has been a godsend for him.

Eyeing the object in Dr. Archer's arms, Peeta eases himself to the edge of the bed. My heart sinks when I realize that the metal thing is a crude prosthetic leg.

"Mr. Mellark, I was hoping to check the fit…" Dr. Archer trails off when he sees the state of Peeta's stump.

"Okay," Peeta says brightly, pulling back the hem of his shorts.

"Perhaps we should wait," Dr. Archer suggests, glancing at me, and I nod in agreement.

"No, now is good," Peeta insists. "It looks bad but I'm fine." He reaches for the prosthetic, and Dr. Archer reluctantly kneels to help him strap it into place. It's a much simpler model than the one the Capitol gave him five years ago, a thick rod extending from his thigh to a metal platform sized roughly like Peeta's other foot. As soon as the new leg is on, Peeta hops off the bed and tests his balance.

"Mr. Mellark, I really don't think you should be-"

"I can do this," Peeta assures him. "I've learned to walk three times already." I stand to help him, but Peeta shakes his head. "It's okay, Kat."

I look nervously at Dr. Archer, who doesn't seem to know how to respond. Peeta tries to take a small step, but loses his footing and yelps as he crashes to the ground. Dr. Archer and I rush to help him, but he pulls his good leg to his chest, buries his head against his knee and begins to cry.

**~ Peeta ~**

She will let me out of the closet eventually. I've only ever missed dinner once, and Dad was furious when he found out.

_"Erin, you can't do these things to him. He's only eight years old."_

_"He dropped the Masons' wedding cake, Tom! It was humiliating for the business."_

_"And we had another one in the back that we frosted for them instead. Accidents happen, and Peeta didn't mean anything by it."_

_"He's irresponsible, Tom. Just wants to sit on the back steps and draw, day in and day out."_

_"He's talented, Erin. Frankly, I'd like to let him try his hand at frosting."_

_"Well, I don't want him in the kitchen if he's just going to be underfoot."_

But in the dark, the seconds pass like hours. I curl up in the corner, but when I rest my hand against the wall, my fingers trace the long body of a cockroach, and I squeal, shivering away in fright.

"Peeta?"

"Roland!" I call, fumbling for the locked doorknob. I jiggle it as roughly as I can.

"Peeta, are you in there?" I hear the lock click, and suddenly I am blinking in the harsh light. My oldest brother reaches down to help me to my feet. He is sixteen, well-built from years of handling the most difficult lifting around the bakery. As soon as I am standing, Roland pulls me into a tight hug.

"Mom?" he asks quietly.

"Mom," I confirm.

"Peeta, listen to me," Roland says firmly, releasing me from his embrace and kneeling so that he can address me eye-to-eye. "You don't deserve to be treated this way. You are a great kid, a sweet kid, a hardworking kid. It's okay to make mistakes. Everyone does. But please, Peeta, whatever she says or does to you, I need you to remember that you are special and loved. Can you do that for me?"

I nod timidly, although I'm not so sure.

And that's when we hear her voice coming straight toward us. _"Roland?"_

He tenses. "Go, Peeta."

* * *

_Thanks so much for reading! Do you want to read more of this?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two****  
**

* * *

_Wow. I have never had such an outpouring of support for a new story idea._

_Special thanks to Guest, fyrebirdrises, Cmath, HungerGamesFan, THG Fan, Delly 1995, Cookie25, ColMikeFuser, Noisy Reporter, Jad Saxton, Argo 1818, KimOne, DanaAnsley, MiaBelles, O, Loving Everlark, katpec, Mirage Rules, Mrsjmw, Samrex, gengen00, and kimbaleena2002 for your support and encouragement._

* * *

**~ Katniss ~**

When I call Haymitch, I cup my hand over the receiver and speak softly so that Peeta won't have to hear.

"Haymitch, it's Katniss. I need you to come and pick me and Peeta up. We're at the hospital."

"Peeta?" Haymitch asks gruffly, and I know that on the other end he's fighting to keep hold of his own concern.

"Yes. He had an episode… destroyed his prosthetic… Haymitch, he's breaking down…"

"I'm on my way."

~X~

After Peeta fell, Dr. Archer and I rushed to him, and I held him on the floor until his sobs quieted, trying to reassure him with gentle words that everything was going to be okay. After a few long minutes, Dr. Archer helped Peeta back up to his bed, assuring him that they could try again later with the prosthetic, and that struggling to keep balance on any new leg was perfectly normal. Hearing this, Peeta turned away and closed his eyes, his shoulders slumped forward with defeat. I sat on the mattress beside him and ran my fingers through his soft blond hair, twirling the ends around my fingers before letting them fall back against his feverish skin.

"Katniss," Dr. Archer said softly behind me, "why don't you come with me for a moment so that I can give you some medications for him."

I nodded, understanding that Dr. Archer needed to speak with me outside, and bent down to kiss Peeta's forehead before rising from his bed. His shoulders relaxed a bit, and he closed his eyes.

"I'll be back soon," I promised him, forcing myself to look away from my husband to follow Dr. Archer out of the room. As soon as he closed the door behind us, I felt my own eyes beginning to brim with tears.

"Why?" I demanded to the tile floor. "He's been doing so well. Three weeks, not a single flashback. And the last few haven't even been very bad. Just a couple of tense moments. He hasn't needed to be hospitalized in…" I shook my head, unable to finish.

"A year and a half. I know, Katniss. I know." I looked up at Dr. Archer, wanting to be reassured by his warm, measured voice. But his eyes were dark with concern. He tilted his head slightly to the left, motioning down the sterile corridor. "Let's go pick up those pills for him."

"It's the breakdown that I don't understand," I said finally as we turned the corner and Dr. Archer pulled out his keys to unlock his office door. He rummaged through the cabinets on the right while I tried to break down the thick spirals of anxiety in my brain. "Peeta isn't usually one to cry. Putting on the mask that everything is okay when it isn't… well, that I've seen before. But he's usually better at keeping up the act than that. He's on the edge."

Dr. Archer closed the cabinets and held out two bottles of pills for me. "This one is to help him sleep," he explained. "And this is for anxiety. It should also help to limit any dramatic mood changes."

I pocketed the pills, not wanting to read the labels: just more chemicals to put into my husband, to try to make him some other Peeta who would somehow resemble himself.

"It's natural for him to relapse, Katniss," Dr. Archer said. "This won't be the last time. But considering what he went through, his healing has been remarkable. You have to remember how far he's come."

I crossed my arms and looked away. "Do you think I don't? He could have been tortured straight through the war. He could still be living in a hospital room, completely helpless. He could be _dead_."

I cringed at the thought, but then the glint of a long metal object on the counter across the room caught my attention. I walked across the room and stood before it, lost for words. _Peeta's prosthetic._ The cradle piece for his thigh was bashed in and cracked, and it looked as though Peeta had also done his best to flatten the joint pieces that used to serve as his knee and ankle. The foot was so badly battered that it looked as though it might fall loose.

"He did this," I said finally. "With a rolling pin."

Dr. Archer walked up behind me and pulled a cloth over Peeta's leg.

"We're going to do everything we can to help him," Dr. Archer said warmly.

"I'm sorry," I said, heading toward the door without asking whether Dr. Archer was finished. "I need to get back to my husband. And I want to take him home."

~X~

Haymitch arrives with a Capitol-issue armored car, one of hundreds left over from the rebellion that were redistributed throughout the districts. He and Dr. Archer help Peeta out to the curb on crutches, and I slide into the back seat to help guide him into the car. I murmur my thanks to the doctor before he closes the car door behind us, and he nods, returning a small smile.

"I will call tomorrow to check in," he reminds me, leaning against the open window until Haymitch climbs in behind the steering wheel. As Haymitch pulls away, I wrap my arms around Peeta, who stares determinedly out the front window.

District 12 has recovered well over the past five years, with many major buildings under construction: the hospital, city hall, community center, and even a new grammar school and secondary school. Peeta and I had generally chosen to keep our space from the rebuilding efforts, but Haymitch occasionally attended meetings. Even though he will never admit that something has made him happy, Peeta and I are both glad that he seems to find a sense of purpose in helping to create a new vision for District 12.

Still, evidence of poverty is everywhere. Many families still live together in small houses as more are under construction, and Haymitch has to drive slowly so as not to hit the young children playing in the streets, thin and barely clothed. But they're happy: even the children of my classmates from the Seam have a light in their eyes unlike any I knew growing up here. These children will never have to know the fear that my generation has known. The fear that has the man I love trembling in my arms.

Haymitch had invited several families to move into the empty Victor's Village houses, but no one had accepted his offer. Even though we tore down the signpost at the entrance, our community still felt separate from the rest of the district, haunted by the presence of the old Capitol. When we reach my doorstep, Haymitch turns off the ignition and walks to Peeta's door to help him out. I hurry past them to unlock the door, holding it open for Peeta to maneuver through on his crutches.

"I'll start dinner," Haymitch tells me before heading to the kitchen. I don't trust his cooking for a moment, but mine isn't much better, and so I shrug and let him go.

"Haymitch is making dinner," I mention to Peeta as I guide him toward the stairs. We take them slowly, and I keep one hand planted firmly on his back to support him as he drags himself up. I'm relieved to see that at the thought of Haymitch cooking for us brings a smile to Peeta's face, and I find a chuckle to show Peeta that I'm also amused. He's breathing heavily by the time we reach the top of the stairs, but luckily the bathroom is only a few more steps. Peeta collapses onto the edge of the bathtub and hands me his crutches.

"Thank you," he says when I take them, the first words I've heard from him since we left the hospital. I lean past him to start the water and then fetch a set of clean clothes for him from our bedroom. When I return, Peeta has already wriggled out of his white t-shirt and is fumbling with his belt. I drop the clothes on the vanity countertop and take his shaking hands in mine.

"Look at me, Peeta."

He raises his eyes to meet mine, searching me. When I see the fear beginning to melt from his expression, I move his hands to his sides and remove his belt myself, sliding the leather strap carefully from around his waist and folding it carefully before me. But as soon as I remove my hands from him, I hear Peeta's breathing quicken. I drop the belt.

"Hey," I say softly. "Hey. You're safe."

He swallows and nods, his blond hair slick with sweat against his forehead. He leans forward against me so that I can help him ease off his hospital-issue flannel shorts and boxers. Then he pushes against the sides of the tub as I carefully lower him into the warm water. I reach for a bar of soap.

"Say something," I whisper as I wet the bar and rub it in small circles between my palms. Peeta reaches up and takes my hands in his. The soap falls into the water with a hard plop. Then he reaches for my hips and pulls me into the tub beside him, fully clothed. I settle in against his chest, gasping for air and laughing with surprise.

"I love you," he whispers, holding me close and kissing my hair. "Katniss Mellark, I love you."

**~ Peeta ~**

Finally dismissed from the bakery for the night to do our schoolwork, Roland, Asher, and I headed for the water pump behind the house. We stripped off our shirts and took turns cupping our hands beneath the flowing water and tossing the thick beads onto our faces. Asher, thirteen, was the strongest boy in his class, and would have been a regular wrestling champion after school had we been allowed to stay after to play with the other merchant kids. Roland, too, was well-built, but the quietest of our threesome. Dad said that when I was old enough to help with the heavy lifting, he would switch Roland over to learn the bakery finances.

"You missed a bit, Peeta," Asher said seriously.

"Where?" I demanded, pumping water vigorously to rub on my arms.

"There!" Asher called, tossing water over my head and laughing so hard that he stumbled backwards. Roland caught him by the elbow and pushed him back toward the water pump. Knowing that a water fight with one of my older brothers was a lost cause, I settled for sticking out my tongue. Roland chuckled.

"Someday, Peeta," he assured me.

"It's not fair," I pouted. "I'm always going to be the youngest."

"Aww, but there are plenty of ways you could show me up," Asher teased. "Decorate more cakes, charm more elderly customers, date a prettier girl…"

"Not _her_ again," I moaned dramatically, and Asher and Roland both burst out laughing.

"Your girlfriend is cute," Roland acknowledged to Asher. "But don't underestimate Peeta. I'll bet he grows up to be quite the charmer."

"Yeah," Asher agreed cheekily, "when he grows… you'll be the big man, Peeta. Have all of Panem talking about your good looks and easy manners."

I threw myself at Asher, and he wrestled me easily to the ground, pinning me carefully back against the dirt. I knew that I would never win a fight with my brother, but also that he would never hurt me. Always the baby of the family.

"Nice try, little one," he grinned, releasing me. Roland helped to pull both of us to our feet, and pumped some more water so that we could wash up again. But as I splashed more water onto my face and scrunched it out of my hair, I saw my mother's shadow in the window, and then heard the creak of the screen door.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading! I am hoping to write longer updates for this fic, and I am brainstorming to fill in my plot skeleton like crazy._**  
**

_For those who have read _Gale's Amaranth, _help! :)_

_What should I do with Gale? I have already made my decision on what to do with the Finnick situation in this fic, but I am not sure whether it would be better to work with the Gale I left in one of the two final chapters of _Gale's Amaranth_, or simply stick to Collins' plan for him. My final decision will depend a lot on what else goes on with the plot for this story, but I am really curious to hear your input on this._

_Feedback is always, always appreciated, and makes my day._

_Have a wonderful evening!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Many thanks for your continued support! Special thanks to jypzrose, odannigirl18, ponyloverr, MiaBelles, Guest, THG Fan, Delly 1995, HungerGamesFan, and Argo1818. It's lovely to hear from readers old and new! I'm generally not one for PM, but I have replied to Ch. 2 reviews at the bottom of this chapter. Thank you all for reading! As this fic takes off, I am especially curious to hear your suggestions- don't be a stranger!_

* * *

**~ Katniss ~**

Straddled between his thighs, I lay my head back against his warm, wet chest. Peeta traces his fingers up the insides of my legs, trailing water droplets along my flesh. When he reaches my center, he flattens his palms against my thighs, massaging slowly, the blood in his fingers pounding against my skin; he hooks his thumbs against my hips and kisses my forehead.

"Go on," I whisper. "I trust you."

~X~

Haymitch helps Peeta settle in at the kitchen table, and I serve my husband a plate of cooked vegetables and chicken. He smiles out of the corner of his mouth when I pass him the meal, but tries to keep his expression shielded from Haymitch, without success. Haymitch raises his eyebrows at me as he sits down with his plate. He knows.

If I can't repair my husband's leg or his sanity, I can at least help him maintain some shred of his masculinity.

Haymitch tries to strike up small talk while we eat, but there is only so much that he can say about the weather and the meal. He looks relieved when the phone rings, and he scrambles up from the table to get it.

"It's for you, Katniss," he says, holding out the receiver. "Dr. Aurelius."

I groan and take the phone from Haymitch. "This is Katniss."

"Katniss. It's Dr. Aurelius. How are you holding up?"

I glance back at Peeta, who is stabbing at a vegetable with his fork.

"I'm fine. Busy day. Peeta's doing better," I add, smiling at Peeta before taking the phone upstairs. I crawl onto my bed and wrap myself around Peeta's pillow.

"I'm glad to hear that," Dr. Aurelius says sincerely. "Dr. Archer said that Peeta had a breakdown after I spoke to him this morning."

"Yeah," I admit. "He tried to walk on the new prosthetic and fell. Just more than he could handle right then, I think."

Dr. Aurelius is quiet for a long moment. "Katniss," he says finally, "something doesn't add up. I watched your husband struggle to heal in the Capitol, and I know that he's had a lot to work through. But to have a reaction to an episode like that… I wonder if we've missed something."

I grip Peeta's pillow more tightly to my chest. "I know," I say softly, appreciating Dr. Aurelius' honesty with me. "It's been five years. It's not fair for him to be hurting like this. I know."

"A relapse is normal," Dr. Aurelius assures me. "Or at least as normal as we can get with Peeta's case. I just want to make sure that we aren't missing one of his triggers. Can you do something for me?"

"Yes," I respond immediately.

"Don't let him out of your sight for a couple of days. And be open with him about it: you both need to work together on this, try to retrace his daily routine, both of you look for the hard moments. Stay with him when he goes back to the hospital for his appointments, go to the bakery with him even if he can't work yet, walk with him around District 12, keep him company while he paints. Keep a record of anything that seems to bother him at all. I'll talk to him about this tomorrow morning, but I want him to just rest tonight."

"Spending time with Peeta shouldn't be a problem," I say warmly, and Dr. Aurelius chuckles on the end of the line.

"Good. I'm going to look over his files, see if I can't find some detail that I didn't notice before. I've asked Dr. Archer to arrange some physical therapy for him starting tomorrow. The sooner Peeta can be back in control of his own life, the better."

"But that leg…" I mutter, thinking of the crude prosthetic waiting for Peeta in the District 12 hospital. "Dr. Aurelius, is there any way that you could send a better prosthetic out here? The one Dr. Archer has for him looks so uncomfortable."

"I'll see what I can do," he promises. "And Katniss, take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything at all."

"Thank you," I reply, and I mean it.

**~ Peeta ~**

Katniss' mother was beautiful. Long blond hair that fill in careful wisps down the sides of her face, and thick braided down her back. My father said that before she moved to the Seam to marry a coal miner, she used to wear it loose down to her waist, and that he always knew when she was walking at the end of the road because her locks would catch the sun.

Once, I asked if he loved her, and he had said yes. But she had gone her way, and he had gone his, marrying my mother after Mrs. Everdeen turned him down for the man who made the birds stop and listen when he sang.

Now, we watched her passing the bakery window, holding her younger daughter's hand. Prim, I recalled.

"Do you love Mom like you loved Mrs. Everdeen?" I asked, watching as Prim skipped ahead and her mother laughed.

"Of course I love your mother, Peeta. I married her!" My father carries a moist towel over to the glass and wipes it down with a slow, sweeping motion.

"You didn't answer the question," I muttered. But my father only shook his head and smiled.

"You'll understand when you're older, Peeta," he assured me.

As I watched Mrs. Everdeen and Prim disappear down the street, I wondered about her other daughter. Katniss. I had been watching her walk home from school for at least five years. At least half my life. And even though Dad always told me that I would understand what it meant to love someone when I was older, I wondered if this was the word for what I felt when I heard Katniss sing in class, or when she bent down to hug her sister when she fell, or when she passed me in front of the school building as we headed home in different directions.

Mom called my name from the back of the bakery, and when I didn't move, Dad glanced disapprovingly at me. Her voice sounded sweet enough, but I knew better.

"Your mother is calling you, Peeta. You ought to go see how you can help her."

I glanced nervously back at the kitchen, my stomach twisting. But I couldn't disappoint my father, and so I moved my feet around the counter and through the door, one numb step at a time. Mom was working at the large polished wood table in the center of the room, laying out dough knots on two large trays.

"Peeta, dear," she greeted me, and my hand trembled as I closed the door.

"How can I help?" I asked quietly, knowing that keeping my voice soft sometimes helped to minimize her mood swings.

"Oh, I just wanted an extra set of hands to help me put these trays in the oven. Can you take that one?" she asked, pointing to the tray nearest to the edge of the table. I settled it between my hands and carried it to the open oven door across the room. "Is your father still out there watching that Seam woman?"

I slid the tray into the oven and took a deep breath. Her question seemed innocent enough, but there was something in the sickly sweet quality of her voice that unsettled me.

"Well… he's just washing the windows…"

"Peeta, dear. You can tell me," she said, picking up the second tray and carrying it toward the oven. I tried to move aside so that she could slide it in, but she cornered me in front of the open door. The heat radiated up my back as my heartbeat accelerated.

"He's washing the windows," I said more firmly, trying again to take a step away from the oven.

"Hmm," my mother murmured thoughtfully. She reached to put the tray into the oven, knocking me aside with her elbow. Caught off balance, my right arm flew out and grazed the oven grill tray. I yelped and clutched my arm against my stomach, trying to bury the pain in my apron.

"Be more careful, Peeta," my mother scolded me, closing the oven door. She walked out of the kitchen, and as I struggled to catch my breath, I heard her laughing out front with a customer.

* * *

_Argo1818: You are too kind! I agree that Gale's influence might be interesting for Katniss' character development. Writing her was one of my main interests in taking on this fic... so tempted to say more, but ahh, you'll see :) Thank you so much for reading!_

_HungerGamesFan: Thank you for reading! I always appreciate your support._

_Delly 1995: Certainly continuing! The college life was insanely busy last month, but I'll update as often as I can and I definitely plan to finish the fic. I'm thrilled to have your support!_

_THG Fan: Your analysis on the Gale situation is spot-on. He's my favorite character so I'm completely torn on how to handle him, since this is definitely Everlark. It's so odd for me to think that _Gale's Amaranth_ was technically that as well, but it had to be... *sigh.* Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts! I appreciate your continued support._

_Guest: Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate your kind feedback!_

_MiaBelles: haha thanks for your input on the Gale situation! Decisions decisions decisions- super excited :) Thank you for your feedback- I really appreciate your continued readership and support!_

_Russetfire: So glad that I saw your new review just before updating! Thank you so much for reading and for your generous support- I hope that the fic is everything you hope it will be! The flashbacks have been really fun to write- my outline for the story right now is actually in two columns, trying to work both plots together. We'll see what happens, it might turn out to be a huge mess, but certainly a fun one :)_

_Wishing my readers all the best!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

**~ Katniss ~**

* * *

Before dawn, Haymitch and I take Peeta to the bakery. He can't work, but Haymitch helps him up the steps and settles him down at the large table in the middle of the kitchen. I pick through the leftover baked goods from earlier in the week and find some rolls and pastries that are soft enough for us to enjoy for breakfast. To Peeta's plate, I also add a dose of the anxiety medication from Dr. Archer, and a couple of pills for the pain in his leg that we always keep on hand around the house. He didn't tell me that it hurt this morning, but I saw the way he clutched his stump when he woke, and when I helped him dress, it was badly swollen.

"I'm fine," he says softly when he sees the pills on his plate, but his eyes have a soft sparkle that tells me he's glad to be looked after. I walk around the table to kiss his forehead, but he grips my hand and holds me there until I bend down so that our lips can meet. Haymitch groans behind me, and I straighten, but not before giving Peeta's hand a long squeeze.

We try to stick to normal discussion about the bakery. Peeta rattles off a list of simple things that even I can bake today, and promises that he'll give instructions and help with the frosting. Haymitch agrees to stick around as well, claiming that it's for lack of better plans. I know that it's really because he wants to look after me and Peeta, and I thank him, which makes him turn a little red.

And so I set to work, kneading dough under Peeta's gentle guidance, although I don't need much - I've watched him perform these motions so many times with his strong, flat palms.

"Here," I say brightly, holding out a spoon with a bit of dough on it to Peeta. "How is it?"

Peeta tries it and grimaces before bursting out into laughter. "It's great, Katniss," he assures me. "Maybe I should come to work crippled more often. Just relax at the table while you do all the work…"

"Absolutely not," I tell him firmly. "And just for that, I'm putting you on register."

"Hey!" Peeta protests, "I want to be with you." But he's already easing himself up from the table onto his leg.

"I'm just teasing, hon," I assure him, wiping my hands on my apron. I step forward and wrap my arms around him and then push him carefully back into his chair. "I actually am going to need you out there to relieve Haymitch, so that he can do some lifting. But only once I've got this bread in the oven, so that I can work out there with you."

Peeta smiles and reaches for my hands. "Come to therapy with this afternoon. Please?"

"Of course I'm going with you," I assure him, surprised that he would ask. Usually, Peeta insists that he can handle his medical appointments by himself, although I'm sure he knows that I won't let him go through them by himself. I squeeze his hands gently and kneel down in front of him, moving my hands up his forearms so that I can hold him a bit closer. "Peeta," I say simply, because I'm not sure how else to start, and I bite my lip.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, gazing into my eyes.

"I'm worried about you, Peeta," I say softly. "Dr. Aurelius is concerned that we might have missed one of your triggers."

Peeta exhales slowly, his brow furrowing in thought. "Maybe," he agrees. "But this week's flashback was normal. The whole Capitol mutt routine," he says, looking away. I reach up to stroke his cheek, and rest my hand on his shoulder.

"It's not so much the flashback, hon."

Peeta closes his eyes. "The breakdown. I know, Katniss. I'm so sorry that you had to see- "

"No, Peeta," I stop him, taking his face in my hands. "No," I say more gently. "You've been through hell this week. You've been so strong. So strong, Peeta. You have every right to feel overwhelmed, to cry, to need help. I'm going to be right here for you."

Peeta swallows and reaches up to take my hands and hold them in his lap. "But Dr. Aurelius is worried," he says softly. "Because it's not like me. To break down."

I nod. "He wants to help you. I want to help you. Haymitch, Dr. Archer, we all do. But we need you to be open with us, when things bother you, when you don't feel safe. You don't have to bottle the things that hurt you up inside."

For a long moment, Peeta just looks at me, his worried expression frozen on his face. "I'll try," he whispers.

The front door of the kitchen swings open, and Haymitch leans inside. "You kids all right?"

I stand, removing my hands from Peeta's lap. "We're fine," I say brightly. "Would you mind grabbing those flour bags from the storeroom? Peeta and I can watch the register while the rest of the bread bakes. His appointment is late afternoon - you can watch the bakery, or we can close early and you can come with us."

Haymitch props the door and walks over to help Peeta from the kitchen table to the front counter. "I'm driving," he says firmly, and I laugh with Peeta. His eyes are sparkling again, and he hops cheerfully up onto his foot.

Although I'll never admit it to Haymitch, I treasure these moments with the three of us so close. One tight, scarred, forever family. My family. And then, the hard part - longing for Prim with all my heart. I try to imagine that she's here with us, healthy, happy, her belly full, dashing over to hug Haymitch like a second father, watching Peeta with wide, wise eyes, and confident every morning that I love her, I love her, I love her.

~X~

"Are you ready to try standing?" Dr. Archer asks after he finishes checking the fit on Peeta's prosthetic. I hate it, Dr. Archer hates it, and though Peeta won't admit it, I'm sure that he hates it too. But there's no deterring Peeta.

"I'm ready," he says, but he takes things more slowly this time and lets Dr. Archer and I support him as he rises and successfully takes one small step, and then another. He nearly falls on the third, but Dr. Archer catches him, and we hold him upright until he regains his balance.

"Another step?" I ask, and Peeta nods, gritting his teeth. He takes his fourth step, and then his fifth.

"Dr. Archer - " he hisses in pain. I reach for a plastic chair and Peeta collapses into it. "I'm trying," he says, rubbing at the base of his stump.

"You're doing great," Dr. Archer assures him. "Let's take a look."

Peeta pulls back his shorts, exposing his badly-bruised thigh.

"Tell me if this hurts," Dr. Archer says. He kneels and gently taps the inflamed side of Peeta's stump with his fingers.

"Peeta," I prompt him when I see his face clench up.

"It hurts."

"And here?"

"Yes."

"And how about here?"

"Yes. Please - stop."

Dr. Archer stops and rises. "I'm sorry," he says softly. "I think we should take an x-ray."

* * *

**~ Peeta ~**

* * *

_"Mom, please! I didn't mean to, Mom, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"_

~X~

I was nine, and Roland was fifteen, the first time I heard my mother beat him. It was the morning of the Reaping, which I still didn't understand, although my father said that I had to come along since both of my brothers were going to be in the drawing that year, and he needed to be there, just in case. My entire family seemed on edge, but I dressed and ate breakfast in silence. The tense atmosphere was nothing I wasn't used to.

We walked over to the square in silence, dressed in ironed shirts and clean pants. Roland and Dad tried to make small talk, but Asher trailed behind with his head down, kicking up dirt onto his polished shoes.

"Dad, why won't Asher walk with us?" I asked, tugging on my father's arm. My father looked at Roland when he replied.

"Your brother has a lot on his mind this morning. We all do."

~X~

Listening from the hallway in front of my brother's room later that night, I wondered.

_"Stop, Mom, please! He was my best friend. Please, Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mom! I didn't mean to cry. Mom, I didn't mean to embarrass you or the family and I'm sorry, Mom, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry…"_

* * *

**Many thanks to my wonderful readers for keeping up with this story sprout, and for all of your encouragement!**

**ColMikeFuser - thank you so much for sharing your insights! You have a great, fresh take on the character development in Collins' series, and I really enjoyed reading and contemplating your ideas. Thank you so much for your support!  
**

**Jad**** Saxton - Thank you for your kind review! I'm so glad that you're enjoying the story, and I'm really looking forward to working with the flashbacks throughout.**

**Delly 1995**** - Thank you for your support! :)**

**To my Guests - You rock! Thank you so much for reading and for your kind reviews!**  


**Cmath - Thank you so much for reading, for sharing your insights, and for your kindness - doing my best with Katniss and Peeta!**

**KimOne - Thank you for your kind review and for your insights! (I know that Gale is not everyone's favorite haha ;) ) So thrilled that you're enjoying the story!**

**Argo1818 - I really appreciate your support! Thank you :)**

**jypzrose - Thank you so much for reading, and for your encouragement! Excited to keep writing!**

**THG Fan - Thank you so much for your kind review and for reading! I'm so thrilled to have your support!**

**MiaBelles - You are the best! I'm so excited to share another story with you, and it's wonderful to hear from you!**

**_Sending warm wishes to all of my fantastic readers!_  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**~ Katniss ~**

I watch from behind the window as Dr. Archer leads Peeta into the x-ray room and helps him up onto the table. Haymitch finds me in the room and puts his hand on my shoulder.

"There's no mirror," he tells me softly, and so I give Peeta a small wave and try to smile. Peeta grins back, although his eyes are wide with uncertainty as he takes in the machinery around him.

"Thanks, Haymitch," I say, resting my head on his shoulder. I know that we're both thinking about those days back in District 13, when Peeta was kept behind a one-way glass. I can only hope that being able to see us is some comfort to him, a reminder that even though he's in the hospital, he's safe, and I won't let him out of my sight.

Dr. Archer sets up the scan and steps out of the room to run the x-ray.

"He'll be okay, right?" I ask Haymitch, even though he doesn't know any better than I do.

"He's a fighter," Haymitch affirms. "He'll do whatever it takes to stay with you."

I nod, and step away from the glass as Dr. Archer walks back into the x-ray room.

"I'm going to go meet him," I tell Haymitch, and he follows out behind me. The door to the x-ray room is open and Dr. Archer is talking with Peeta, and so I go ahead and enter.

"... and the scans should be ready in about an hour, so if you and Katniss would like to wait for them, there's a lounge down the hall, should be some coffee out…"

"Peeta," I interrupt, rushing over to stand beside him. He keeps one hand against the table to steady himself and wraps the other around my waist. "I'm sorry," I whisper, and Dr. Archer smiles before proceeding.

"I was just telling Peeta that we'll have the scans ready soon. I'll send them over to Dr. Aurelius so that he's in the loop as well. They should give us a better sense of why Peeta's leg is hurting him, and what we can do to make him more comfortable."

"That sounds great," Peeta says, pulling me a bit closer. "Thank you."

Haymitch walks in with Peeta's crutches, and Dr. Archer guides the three of us out to the floor lounge. I grab coffees for all of us while Haymitch takes a seat next to Peeta and Dr. Archer goes to check on the prints. When I pass Haymitch his mug, he takes out his flask, but then he shoots a sideways glance at Peeta and repockets the flask.

"I don't mind, Haymitch," Peeta says brightly, accepting a mug from me. "Thanks, Kat." He motions for me to slide onto the sofa beside him.

"I do," I say firmly, leaning over to kiss Peeta's cheek.

He laughs. "I have to say, Haymitch, Katniss, I've spent so much time in hospitals, and I always wondered how other people could bear it. But I guess it helps to have family along."

Haymitch groans. "Don't, kid. You'll make me get all weepy."

The door opens, and a woman enters shyly with her daughter. I recognize her from the Seam: she's Gale's age, and grew up in the house next door to his. A nice girl, quiet family. Watched Posy once when Hazelle was sick so that Gale and I could hunt. I don't really want to start up a conversation, but I make an effort to smile. At heart, I'm still a Seam girl just like her. She nods and takes a seat across from us.

"Mommy, where's his leg?" her daughter asks, pointing at Peeta. Haymitch tenses, and Peeta exhales softly beside me.

"Sylvie, come here," the woman reprimands her daughter. "I'm sorry," she says pleadingly to Peeta.

"It's okay," he assures her. "I lost it… in an accident," he explains to the girl. She stares hard back at him, but after a moment, his vague answer seems to satisfy her.

"Can I see it?" she asks, walking over to Peeta with her head tilted in curiosity.

"I don't think that's such a good idea right now," he says quickly, trying unsuccessfully to twist his stump out of view.

"Sylvie," her mother warns. "Leave Mr. Mellark alone."

The girl pouts but turns back to her mother and hops up onto the sofa. I wrap my arms around Peeta and press my lips against his ear.

"Are you okay?" I whisper. He nods and sighs.

"I'm a freak," he mutters under his breath.

"You're my husband," I counter, burying my nose in his hair.

"Ew!" Sylvie exclaims. "Mommy, she's going to kiss him!"

"Sylvie, that is about enough," her mother says sternly, looking at me apologetically.

"It's all right," I say, holding back a chuckle. "I'm Katniss. We grew up in the Seam together," I introduce myself, even though I know that all of Panem knows who I am.

"Caroline," the woman says. "And this is my daughter, Sylvie."

"It's nice to meet you," I reply, thinking of how proud Effie would be of me for making small talk. I glance over at Haymitch to see if he's thinking similarly, but he's gazing into the corner, lost in thought.

Just then, Sylvie breaks into a terrible coughing fit. Her entire body begins to shake, and Caroline pulls her into her arms, rubbing her back and murmuring to her. Haymitch springs up and pours her a cup of water, but by the time he reaches Sylvie, she's gasping for air. Caroline rubs her back, whispering soothing things to her until the coughing subsides, and Sylvie collapses against her mother's chest, exhausted. Caroline accepts the water from Haymitch and offers it to Sylvie in small sips. Haymitch looks back at me and Peeta, and then kneels beside Caroline.

"Would you like me to find the doctor?" he offers, but Caroline shakes her head.

"Thank you, but she's all right. We're hoping to find out what's going on today, aren't we, Sylvie?" she asks gently. Sylvie nods and closes her eyes, and Caroline runs her fingers slowly through her daughter's hair.

Peeta is still in my arms. His muscles have relaxed and his eyes are clear, but I know that his mind is elsewhere.

"She's okay, hon," I assure him. "And you're okay."

~X~

When Dr. Archer finally returns with the x-ray scans, I know from the worried expression on his face that the prognosis isn't good. Sylvie is sleeping in Caroline's arms and Haymitch is pacing in front of the window. Peeta tries to stand to greet the doctor on instinct, but I grip his arm to keep him seated. Dr. Archer pulls over a chair and lays out a set of images on the coffee table.

"The good news is that we can see what's wrong here," he says, pointing at the x-rays of Peeta's stump. "That's your femur. And that's a fracture, and it's not going to be able to handle the kind of pressure that you've been wanting to put on it."

I squeeze Peeta's hand, expecting him to be put on bed rest. He'll hate it, but it'll be good for him.

"You're going to need surgery to support a prosthetic. I've been in touch with Dr. Aurelius, who's already been looking into finding you a more advanced model than the one we've had to work with here."

"Okay," I say, when I realize that Peeta is trapped in silence. "That's good. He just wants to be able to walk comfortably."

Dr. Archer nods. "Of course. And we want to make that happen." He slides the images across the table to Haymitch and takes a deep breath.

"What's the catch?" Peeta asks softly. Dr. Archer meets his eyes and swallows.

"We can't do the surgery here."

Peeta shudders, and Haymitch and I both reach to hold him. Peeta closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"I'm not going."

"Mr. Mellark, we can't give you the treatment that you need- "

"I won't go. You can't make me go. You can't make me!" he yells, pulling away from me and Haymitch, and burying his head in his hands. I rub his back and look desperately at Haymitch, shaking my head. _Not the Capitol. None of us want to go back there._

Dr. Archer looks apologetically at me, but I'm not having it.

"You would be able to meet with Dr. Aurelius," he says gently. "The Capitol has the best hospital in Panem. You'd hardly be in pain."

"Pain. Pain? Do you know how it feels to be in pain?" Peeta seethes. His face is red, and I know that even though he's angry, he's fighting back tears. "I've been in so much pain," he whispers, falling back against the sofa.

Sylvie's coughing starts up again, muffled in the fabric of her mother's sweater. I look up at Caroline, who is staring back at us in concern. But I don't want the attention.

"Peeta, you should listen to Dr. Archer," I begin, but he won't have any of it.

"Katniss, please," he begs. "Don't make me go back there. Don't let them take me away from you again. Please, Katniss, please don't let them take me away- "

"Peeta…" I wrap my arms around him and hold him close. "Haymitch, Dr. Archer, please, just give him some space…"

Dr. Archer motions for Haymitch to join him in the hallway, and I'm left alone with Peeta. He's staring hard at his stump, as though if he glares long enough, he can make it disappear.

"Peeta," I try again. "Look at me, hon."

He raises his eyes to meet mine. "It's not fair, Katniss," he whispers.

"I know. I know, love. It's so unfair."

"Katniss, I don't want to go. I can't face that place."

"Maybe not yet," I agree, placing my hand gently on his good leg and massaging his thigh.

"Not _ever._"

I take a deep breath and glance over at the doorway, where Haymitch is watching me from the hall through a small window. He raises his eyebrows and nods almost imperceptibly, and I understand.

"Shh," I murmur. "It's okay. You're going to be okay."

* * *

**That Haymitch, always up to something. Have a wonderful Friday, everyone!**

**Special thanks to Maddi, THG Fan, Guest, Death-Muncher, linda shook .7771, and MiaBelles for your support - your encouragement helps me to keep writing! You guys are the best :)**

**Wishing the best to all of my wonderful readers, and as always, I love to hear your thoughts & suggestions!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_Special thanks to Firesidegirl, Maddi, MiaBelles, and fyrebirdrises for their support & and for encouraging me to get another chapter out this weekend! Be sure to check out their work - my readers are superstars!_

* * *

**~ Peeta ~**

* * *

"Are you all right?" I asked Roland later that night. Our mom had finished beating him hours ago, but I hadn't been able to get the sound of his cries out of my head. I found Roland scraping off the oven grills on the back porch and sat down beside him, longing for the warmth that I usually felt from my older brother.

"Yes," he said bluntly, scrubbing roughly at the large metal piece on his knees.

"Did she say she was sorry?" I demanded, imagining my mother hugging Roland close to her and apologizing profusely for ever hurting him.

"No. She never does," he replied bitterly, hunching over the grill. "Peeta, I know you mean well, but I really don't want to talk right now. It's late. You should be in bed."

"But I'm _nine,_" I complained. "I don't want to sleep and you can't make me. What do you mean, 'she never does?'"

Roland sighed. "Peeta, please. Leave me alone."

"Has she hurt you before?" I asked, scooting down the steps so that I could look up at Roland.

"Peeta, I told you to go."

"I don't want to."

"_Peeta. Go away._"

"No."

"Look. Yes. She has. Now will you _go?_"

Momentarily satisfied to have gotten an answer out of my brother, I stood to leave. But then the implication of what he was saying crashed down on me.

"Roland…"

"_Peeta!"_ he threw the grill down the steps, and it landed in the dirt with a hard, rattling thump.

"She should say she's sorry," I pouted. But Roland just shook his head and buried his head in his hands.

* * *

**~ Katniss ~**

* * *

When Dr. Archer reenters the lounge with Haymitch, he doesn't fight Peeta's refusal to accept the surgery. Instead, he calls to have an overnight room prepared so that Peeta can receive some power painkillers. When he tells Peeta that they'll have to do some quick bloodwork, I can see Peeta beginning to panic, and even though it's a routine procedure, I try to go to the lab with him. But Haymitch holds me back.

"He'll be okay," he assures me. "But we need to talk."

We wait until Peeta and Dr. Archer have left, and then stroll down the hallway in the opposite direction. It's a quiet evening here, and we only pass the occasional nurse. At the end of the hall, Haymitch finds a bench in front of the window.

"Sit down, sweetheart."

"I should be with him right now, Haymitch. He can't handle- "

"He can handle a needle, Katniss. It's been five years. We need to talk about the Capitol surgery."

I take a deep breath. "I don't want him to go. I don't want to go."

Haymitch wraps his arm around my shoulder, and although I'm not sure whether the gesture is more for him or for me, I don't protest.

"While you were with him, Dr. Archer explained the scans to me. Katniss, his stump isn't going to heal up on its own. He's doing a remarkable job of hiding it, but what he did to himself is incredibly painful. If we just keep him on medicines, let him rest, maybe eventually it won't hurt so much. But he'll never be able to support a prosthetic with his leg in that condition. He needs that surgery, Katniss. This is Peeta we're talking about. He wants to get up in the morning and live his life, take care of you, the bakery, maybe even have kids- "

"No."

"Look, sweetheart, you see what I'm trying to say."

I gaze out the window at District 12, where the sun is setting over the only streets that Peeta ever should have had to know. And for my husband, I try to swallow my own fear of the Capitol, that sinking dread of the terrible skyline. _I want him to walk again. Mostly for him, a little bit for me, too. But if I can barely stomach the thought of returning to the Capitol, then how is he supposed to take it?_

"Okay," I say finally. "If Peeta will go, I'll travel with him. But he won't agree to this, Haymitch, and I've got no idea how to talk him into it."

Haymitch nods. "I discussed this with Dr. Archer as well."

"What?" I demand, taken aback by the confidence in Haymitch's tone.

"Katniss… Peeta is still classified as 'mentally disoriented.'"

"I don't understand," I say slowly, although the realization of what Haymitch intends to do is already creeping in.

"You're his wife," Haymitch reminds me softly. "We just need your signature."

~X~

When we meet up with Peeta, he's already settled into his hospital bed with an IV drip. Dr. Archer is chatting with him about the new children's wing planned to be added in the next couple of years, and although Peeta doesn't seem particularly engaged in the conversation, I'm grateful to Dr. Archer for at least trying to distract him. I walk over to Peeta's bedside and take a seat on the mattress beside him, reaching for his hand. He tries to squeeze my fingers as he often does to show me that he's okay, but the painkillers have sedated him past that point, and so I take his hand in both of mine so that his fingers won't slip away.

"He'll fall asleep soon," Dr. Archer says softly. I nod and smile at Peeta, running my fingers through his hair and down the side of his face.

"I love you," I whisper, hoping that he'll be able to cling to it as he slips into a dreamless sleep. I pull his blanket up and tuck him in the best I can without disrupting his IV. His lips tremble a bit at the corners as he attempts to smile, and then he closes his eyes. I wait for his breathing to melt into a steady rise and fall before I turn back to Dr. Archer and Haymitch.

"I want to call Dr. Aurelius."

Dr. Archer nods. "It's your choice, Katniss. Take your time."

"It ought to be Peeta's choice," I correct him. "But thank you."

I step out of the room to make the call, not wanting to talk in Peeta's presence, even though it would be hours before he woke. Pacing back down the hallway toward the window bench, I dial the number that I know by heart, and Dr. Aurelius picks up on the second ring.  
"Katniss, I know," he says solemnly before I can even begin to explain.

"Haymitch and Dr. Archer think that I should sign for Peeta, make him go to the Capitol for the surgery, and maybe he needs it, he has to walk again, he's in pain, but he'd never forgive me," I rush. Dr. Aurelius takes a deep breath on the other end of the line before responding.

"I spoke with Dr. Archer earlier today," he says kindly. "I know that this is a difficult situation, and I don't think that any of us are quite sure how to handle it. You know Peeta better than any of us, and we will respect your decision, whatever it is."

I sit down on the bench, watching my shadow fall against the wall in the dim light. "But Peeta…" I say, my voice breaking. "I want him to heal, Dr. Aurelius. I want him to be healthy and safe. I know that he needs this surgery, and that he's not going to be okay in his head until he can go back to living a happy, productive life. But if I sign those papers, what if he never forgives me? What if going back to the Capitol eats him from the inside out? I'm afraid of losing him."

"Peeta loves you," Dr. Aurelius assures me. "He probably wouldn't like your decision to send him back here, and you're probably right about it breaking the trust between you, at least for a little while. But I saw how hard he fought to get back to you after the revolution, and I'm sure that he would fight just as hard to forgive you."

I pull my feet up onto the bench and wrap my arms around my knees. "He shouldn't have to fight anymore."  
"I know, Katniss. I know. And neither should you. But life isn't always fair, and sometimes the right decision is the difficult one."

I sigh. "I don't want to go to the Capitol, either," I admit. "But I could never let him go by himself. I don't think Haymitch could, either."

"Well," Dr. Aurelius says brightly. "We would be able to meet in person as often as you needed. And I'm sure that Effie would love to see you."

I take a deep breath. _Effie._ Yes. She would be thrilled to see me. And if Peeta could fight as hard as he'd fought these past few years, he would find a way to get through the trip.

"You really think he'll be okay?"

Dr. Aurelius pauses. "I hope so. With all my heart, Katniss, I hope so."

~X~

Haymitch and Dr. Archer are quietly conversing in the hallway when I return to Peeta's room.

"I know that he's sleeping, but I'd like a minute alone with him," I say firmly, and Dr. Archer nods.

"Take your time, sweetheart," Haymitch says.

The lights in Peeta's room have been dimmed, but I can still make out his sleeping form. I switch on the lamp at his bedside, and for a moment, I just watch him sleep. His face is free from tension, and I know that I have his medications to thank for that; his mouth is parted just slightly, and when I am completely still, I can hear the gentle whistling of his breathing. I stroke his arm through the blanket, searching for the right words, even though I know that he can't hear me.

"Peeta," I begin carefully. "I'm going to do something, probably before you wake up. And you aren't going to like it." I swallow before continuing. "Peeta… you'll be scared. Angry. You'll feel betrayed, and rightfully so. But I hope that, someday, you'll understand that I did what I'm going to do because I love you. I hope that you'll forgive me."

* * *

_I've been so excited to write this bit, and I'm curious to hear your thoughts and suggestions! Thank you to all of my readers for your support. Have a great Saturday!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

**~ Katniss ~**

* * *

It's nearly midnight when Haymitch pats my shoulder and tells me that he's heading home for the night. I nod and thank him for staying up with me, but I refuse to leave Peeta, and Haymitch doesn't try to convince me otherwise. After a nurse comes to check in on us, I crawl into bed with my husband and snuggle against his chest, letting my free arm drape across his body. And when I kiss his forehead before nodding off myself, I try not to think about how he will feel in the morning, when he finds out what I've done.

But morning comes all too soon, and I'm woken by the broken morning tones of Peeta's voice.

"Katniss? Sweetie, you should be at home…"

I lift my head so that I can meet his eyes, but they're clear and concerned and full of the simple love that sunrise brings. _He doesn't know yet._ I sink back down against him, and he sighs, shifting to check his IV.

"I won't leave you," I whisper, taking his fingers in mine.

"Evidently not," Peeta laughs, squeezing my hand. "Thanks for staying with me. I hope you managed to get some sleep."

"Mmmhmm," I acknowledge drowsily.

Peeta reaches over to hit the nurse's call button. "It's Peeta Mellark," he says after we're greeted by a cheerful nurse on the morning shift. "I'm awake, ready to head home if it's okay with Dr. Archer."

"How are you feeling?" I ask him, sitting up and stretching my arms above my head. Peeta sighs.

"I'm okay. The medicine helped a lot. It's the first time I've been able to sleep through the night since the episode. I just…" he closes his eyes. "It's a lot, Katniss. But I did what I had to do… if I had hurt you…"

There's a soft knock at the door, and then Dr. Archer enters. He smiles at me before glancing at his clipboard, but he looks tired.

"Mr. Mellark," he says thoughtfully as he checks Peeta's chart. "Did the medication help last night?"

"Yes," Peeta replies brightly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Dr. Archer hurries over to help him remove the IV, and then motions for Peeta to hold out his arm so that he can get his blood pressure.

"Fantastic. So we'll keep that in your routine for at least a couple of days, probably put you on something stronger after the surgery, and- "

"No," Peeta interrupts firmly. "No surgery, remember? I'm not going back there."

I shake my head at Dr. Archer, and he raises his eyebrows at me.

"Katniss?" Dr. Archer asks, gesturing at his clipboard where I know he must have the paperwork that I signed last night.

I take a deep breath. "Peeta, you're not going to be able to walk on a prosthetic until your leg heals, and you need the surgery to repair the damage that- "

"_No,_ Katniss," Peeta argues, pulling away from me. "I'm not going. You can't make me, and I'm not going."

"Peeta," I whisper, and my voice breaks. Dr. Archer purses his lips and watches me sympathetically as I wrap my arms around my husband. "I signed the papers," I confess, my eyes burning with tears.

Peeta's eyes grow wide, and he opens his mouth as though he's about to protest, but then understanding hits him, and he closes his eyes and hangs his head.

"Peeta. Peeta, please. Talk to me," I beg, stroking his back and leaning in to try to meet his eyes.

"Please go," he whispers.

"Peeta, it's for the best- "

"You need to leave me," he insists, beginning to tremble. But when I hold him more tightly, he pulls away.

"Peeta, it'll all be over before you know it- "

"I want my crutches," he says firmly, easing himself down from the bed. He steadies himself against the mattress until he's standing above me. Dr. Archer steps slowly toward Peeta and gives him a warning stare.

"Mr. Mellark, please sit down," he orders, but Peeta takes a bold hop forward and grabs his IV stand, and then the wall, gritting his teeth with the force of the movements.

"I'm leaving," he protests. "Call Haymitch. I'm going home."

"Peeta," I try again, climbing off his bed and moving in toward him with Dr. Archer. But I'm not thinking about what this looks like to Peeta, and I'm too late when I realize that I've effectively cornered him. He begins to hyperventilate, gasping for air and then whimpering as he slides down to the floor. I kneel and offer him my embrace, but his eyes are wild with fear and he cowers away from my arms.

"How could you, Katniss? Please. Please don't make me go. You can change your mind. Tell them not to make me go."

I reach for Peeta's hands, but he jerks them away and pulls them against his chest.

"Peeta, you're going to be okay. I'm going with you. Haymitch, too. You'll just be in the hospital, you can meet with Dr. Aurelius, and then you'll be able to walk again."

He narrows his eyes at me, and then looks up at Dr. Archer.

"Show me the paperwork. I want to see her signature."

Dr. Archer begins to protest, but I exchange a challenging glance with him, and he caves in. It's painful, but Peeta should be able to see what I've done. Dr. Archer slips the papers out from the stack on his clipboard and holds them just out of Peeta's reach, but close enough so that my husband can read where I've signed his sense of security away. I watch Peeta's eyes as he follows the list of statements that I checked before signing at the bottom. At first, he shakes his head in disbelief, but by the time he reaches the bottom, his body looks deflated. He slumps his shoulders, tilts his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes.

"Sedation. Transport. Anaesthesia. Surgery. Psychotherapy. Medications. Evaluations. Physical therapy. Follow-up appointments. You've really covered all the bases, Katniss. _Mentally disoriented, _ha. Well, given my inability to make competent medical decisions for myself, I'm really glad that you're keeping up on what's best for me."

"Peeta…" I reach out to touch his cheek, but he slaps my hand away.

"Sedate me," he laughs, his eyes still closed. "You said they could do it. Make it happen, Katniss. Haul me onto the hovercraft. Cut me open and try to put me back together."

"It's not like that," I protest softly, and Peeta opens his eyes.

"But isn't it, Katniss? Isn't it?"

"Peeta… those things are only for if you won't come willingly… you're allowed to put yourself on the hovercraft, and if you're cooperative, this should all be easy…"

"Easy! Oh, joy, Katniss. _Easy!_" he glares up at Dr. Archer. "Did you put her up to it?" he demands. "Or… _Haymitch._ Haymitch, right, Katniss? I'd like to believe that this wasn't _entirely_ my wife's idea."

"Peeta, please, it's for the best- "

He laughs. "The _best._ So, Katniss, tell me. What else can you do to me that's for the _best?_ Why don't you just start by locking me up in a psych ward, and you can go from there, hmm?"

I crawl over to sit beside him, tuck my knees against my chest, and rest my head on his shoulder. Peeta sighs, but he doesn't try to push me away.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Please, Peeta. Try to understand."

"I'm trying. If you were sorry, you wouldn't be doing this to me."

I reach for his hands, and he surrenders them.

"I'm going to meet Haymitch downstairs," Dr. Archer says softly, and I nod without taking my eyes off of Peeta. I try to warm his fingers between mine, squeezing them gently between my palms.

"Do you really think that I'm crazy?" he asks after a few minutes. "Do you really think that I can't be trusted to make my own medical decisions?"

"No, Peeta. It's not like that," I insist.

"Then tell them so," he pleads, opening his eyes and gazing into mine with his soul completely bared. "Tell them I can decide these things for myself."

"No, Peeta," I whisper. "You need that surgery."

"So you do think I'm crazy. _Mentally disoriented._ My own wife thinks so." He shakes his head in disbelief.

"I _love _you, Peeta. Can't you see?" I take his face in my hands and move to kiss him, but he pulls away.

"Then don't do this to me," he begs. "Katniss, please, if you love me, don't make me go back there. _Please, _Katniss."

I'm grateful when Haymitch opens the door and slips in with Dr. Archer.

"Peeta, I know this isn't want you wanted," he says bluntly, "but the hovercraft should be here in a couple of hours, and you need to eat breakfast."

Peeta gazes up at Haymitch and narrows his eyes.

"Remember to drug me while you're at it," he warns. "Because if you all think I'm getting on that hovercraft willingly, you're out of your minds."

"Note taken," Haymitch replies curtly, but the hurt in his eyes says otherwise.

* * *

_Many thanks to Jedi1, THG Fan, Guest, jypzrose, fyrebirdrises, and MiaBelles for their support!_

_Guest - updating as often as I can! :)_

_fyrebirdrises - good questions! In my understanding of Katniss and Peeta, Katniss heals faster - she's dealing with severe depression at the end of _Mockingjay, _and will struggle with PTSD for the rest of her life, but Peeta is dealing not only with these things, but also with the aftermath of his hijacking. I always saw the discussion of her mental health in the Capitol as more of a loophole to avoid her execution than anything else, as legitimate as her problems were - and figured that once she had returned to District 12, her "mentally disoriented" status would be quietly removed, whereas Peeta's continued struggles would be more obvious. I would definitely suspect some Haymitch input here, although he's got enough PTSD issues himself! Given that Peeta loved Katniss before his hijacking and that the strength of their love was pretty evident through his efforts to recover from his hijacking, I don't think that there would have been doubt about their eligibility to marry each other, especially with Haymitch's support... okay I'm rambling :) I could see how it could all be interpreted in so many different ways, but that's roughly my take! Hope that helps - thanks for asking!__  
_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

*_ There is a small _Gale's Amaranth_ reference in here - couldn't resist. Curious to see if anyone spots it!_ *

_Updating is going to be a little bit spotty because I'm deep into exam preparation and final papers - worked 14 hours straight on essays yesterday only stopping for short meals, and then falling asleep on our coffee table. Determined to make it through the next two weeks!_

_This chapter is dedicated to _Maddi, THG Fan, Quints57, MiaBelles, JacquelineR, Jedi1, _and_ Guest._ Thank you all so much for your support! (Replies are at the end of the chapter.)_

* * *

**~ Peeta ~**

* * *

"No, Peeta. It's simple. You just brush your hair back with your fingers...no, a little more over your head… okay, you're almost getting it."

Asher demonstrated again, sweeping his hand effortlessly back through his thick blond hair. When he completed the motion, he gave me a seductive smile.

"Try again," he challenged me, and I did, but I couldn't figure out what to do with my elbow, and my fingers caught in the knots in my hair. Asher burst out laughing, shaking his head.

"Don't tease me!" I demanded, trying to loosen the knots in my hair.

"You could comb it every once in a while," he chastised. "You look like a Seam kid. We'll just skip that part for now. Do you remember the line?"

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven."

"Peeta! It's a question! And you have to smile."

I put on my goofiest toothy smile and winked at my older brother. "So, Asher," I began slowly, "did it hurt? When you… fell from heaven?"

He punched my shoulder good-naturedly. "Don't use up all your charm on _me, _little brother. Save some for the _ladies._"

Roland knocked softly on the bedroom door and poked his head inside. "You two almost ready for dinner?"

"Roland, come in and see what I taught Peeta."

Roland sighed and entered the room, closing the door behind him and slouching back against it.

"Okay, Peeta. Show me what you've got."

"Yeah, Peeta. Show him _what you've got._"

Instead of running my fingers through my hair, I swept my hand back and fisted some of the snarly mess, squeezing my bicep the way Roland showed me. "So, Roland," I began coyly. "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

Asher burst out laughing. "He's a natural, right, Roland?"

Roland sighed. "Dinnertime, kids."

* * *

**~ Katniss ~**

* * *

When Haymitch and Dr. Archer help Peeta to his feet, I refuse to leave his side. He doesn't look at me as he's led back to his bed, and when I sit beside him and wrap my arm around his shoulders, he shivers and pulls away. And so I fold my hands in my lap and wait for Peeta to try to talk this through.

"Peeta, you haven't taken your anxiety medication this morning," Dr. Archer begins gently, but Peeta shakes his head in defiance. I hold up my hand to signal Dr. Archer to let him be. He leaves the pill bottle on Peeta's bedside table. "I'm going to check on another patient, and then I'll come back and see how he's doing," he says quietly, and I try to smile. But Peeta's dark laugh after Dr. Archer exits takes me by surprise.

"It's like I'm not even here."

Haymitch sits at Peeta's other side and sighs.

"Kid, no one's signed your death sentence. It's just a surgery. You would've done the same for Katniss."

I wait for him to fight back, to tell Haymitch that he never would have signed the papers for my medical procedures without my consent. Because I know he probably wouldn't have done it - Peeta would have found another way. He would've convinced me to go to the Capitol on my own volition, or he would have found a way to get me the surgery somewhere else. And if he had found himself with no other choice but to sign, he would have done it in front of me, not in the dead of night while I was in a drugged sleep. He would always look out for my best interests, but he would never lie to me.

But Peeta doesn't reply. I examine his expression, and it's drained of anger. Instead, he looks as though he's trying not to cry. And he doesn't. Instead, his face seems to freeze over. He takes a deep breath and then hauls himself across the bed, where he lies down with his back toward me and Haymitch. When I reach over to put my hand on his shoulder, he tenses a little, but then seems to fight the reaction and relaxes. I glance over at Haymitch for guidance, but he just shrugs.

"I'll stay with him, Katniss," he says softly. "You go home, pack whatever you and Peeta will need for the trip."

I nod. "Peeta? Is there anything you want me to pack for you?"

"Sketchbook," he murmurs, so quietly that I nearly miss it.

I smile and squeeze his shoulder. "That's a given, hon. I'll be back soon."

~X~

When I leave the hospital, I take off running, determined not to leave Peeta for a moment more than I have to. But as fatigue catches up with me, I slow to a walk. _Who knows how long it will be before I can walk outside alone and undisturbed? And Peeta probably wants his space, so that he can try to process all of this. _I hope that Haymitch is talking with him, but I doubt that Peeta is any less thrilled with Haymitch than he is with me.

Although I'm not sure how long we'll be in the Capitol, I know that Peeta and I won't need much - we'll be well-provided for, especially once Effie finds out that we're visiting. And so I try to pack things that will help Peeta stay strong - several sketchbooks including some that he's already filled with drawings of us and the people he loves, the memory book that we made together after the revolution, the chessboard that he uses with Haymitch in the evenings. As I'm picking through his pencil box for a variety of new, sharp ones, my eyes begin to burn, and I wipe a stray tear away as the futility of it all begins to overwhelm me.

I try to remember the list of comforting things that Dr. Aurelius shared with me not long after Peeta returned to District 12 - the small reassurances that could help Peeta see that he was safe at home, and not in the Capitol, for those moments when he was uncertain. I'm confident that we'll be able to situate Peeta in a Capitol hospital room that has a light dimmer and a window. His sketchbooks - yes. I pack an envelope of photographs that Effie mailed to me after the revolution, some photographs of me, Peeta, and our friends taken before the rebellion, including some pictures of his family taken for the interviews during the 74th Games. And then soft, warm things. I rummage through Peeta's dresser for several loose-fitting cotton t-shirts and a few pairs of sleeping shorts. I spot a thick, navy sweater that he hasn't worn in years, but it looks comfortable, and so I add it to the bag. For myself, I throw on my father's hunting jacket, and as an afterthought, I bring the afghan that Greasy Sae knitted for us, the one we snuggle under on cold winter nights. It smells like home.

When I return to the hospital, I find Peeta and Haymitch sitting on the hallway window bench, with Peeta's crutches resting against the wall beside him. Peeta is reluctantly spooning scrambled eggs into his mouth, and Haymitch is bent over his knees, holding a glass of water and the bottle with Peeta's anxiety medicine.

"All packed," I inform them, setting the bag down next to Haymitch. "Is the hovercraft here yet?"

"Soon," Haymitch says, tipping out two of the anxiety pills into his palm. He holds them out to Peeta with the glass of water, and Peeta takes them wordlessly, refusing to make eye contact with either of us.

"How are you feeling?" I ask Peeta, squatting in front of him.

"You aren't trying to kill me," he whispers between final spoonfuls of the eggs. "That's not real."

"Oh Peeta…" I sigh. I reach up to sweep his hair out of his eyes, and I take the empty bowl from his hands and set it on the floor beside me.

"He had an episode as soon as you left," Haymitch informs me. "Thought you were- "

"Haymitch," Peeta interrupts, shooting him a cold sideways glance. "I can explain."

Haymitch nods and puts his hand on Peeta's shoulder. For a long moment, we sit in silence, comforting Peeta between us until he's ready to speak.

"I thought that we were back in the cave, from the 74th Games. And that you'd left me. I know that you were really just getting the medicine to save my life… risking your own life to do it. But the Capitol's twisted that up in my head, and even though I know that you left me to help me, I remember you leaving me to die."

"No, Peeta," I assure him, "It's not real. I was only packing a bag for us, some little things for the trip." I reach into the bag for the photographs and pick through them until I find one of me and Peeta together at the interviews before the 75th Games. "Do you remember this?" I ask him, putting the photograph in his hands. I'm wearing my wedding dress and he's in a matching tuxedo. He's got his arm wrapped around my waist, smiling while the most I can manage is a grimace. But I'm leaning close to him, even shrinking into him, and it's obvious that in that moment he's my rock.

Haymitch coughs, as if to warn me that showing Peeta pictures from our Games is probably not the best way to keep him in the present. I ignore him and slide onto the bench at Peeta's other side so that I can rest my head on his shoulder and look at the photograph with him.

"75th Games," Peeta says, his voice full of uncertainty. "This isn't the first time you've dragged me back to the Capitol."

"That's not how it was," I explain patiently. "You _chose_ to go back. You chose to put your life on the line to protect me, Peeta. You were so selfless, so brave. And what you had to go through in the months after this picture, it was horrible. But you loved me, and you protected me, because that's what we do for each other. I'll never deserve that love."

Peeta traced his finger along the edge of the photograph.

"You were beautiful. You always are. But especially so on our real wedding day."

I laugh and lean in to kiss his cheek, but he doesn't reciprocate the affection. Instead, he sets the photograph back in my lap and eases himself up from the bench. He nearly stumbles but Haymitch hurries to support him.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Peeta says sadly, still avoiding eye contact with me. "I know you're only trying to do what's best for me. But I really need some time to process this on my own."

* * *

**A big thank you to all of my readers for keeping up with the story! I hope you're enjoying it - I'm super excited to keep writing, and I always love to hear your thoughts!**

_Maddi - Good luck on your exams! I'll meet you at the end ;)_

_THG Fan - I really appreciate all of your support! Excited to write the Capitol scenes!_

_Quints57 - Yes, in agreement that Peeta's POV needs to come back in! I'm saving it a little bit... big plans there ;)_

_MiaBelles - You are the best. Thanks so much for your support - have a wonderful weekend :)_

_JacquelineR - Your review was the sweetest! I'm excited to keep writing, and I'm so thrilled to have your support!_

_Jedi1 - Your comment inspired the Haymitch line :)_

_Guest - Thank you for reading :)_


End file.
